"Oh! Milliways is--ah--sort of an inn? Bar? There's grounds--" Feuilly waves a hand at the windows, which look out on a somewhat tired end-of-winter lawn, with woods beyond. "Some people come and go, and some people--live here."

For a given value of live. But his face brightens immediately at the mention of Yorkshire. Places he knows on a map! "Oh, I know where that is! In the North, yes? Though not so far north as Northumberland?"